


The truth you can't escape

by Poetry, shinykari (meinterrupted)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, Background Hamilton/Eliza, Background Hamilton/Maria, Epistolary, Female Friendship, Gen, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:06:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetry/pseuds/Poetry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza and Maria, through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The truth you can't escape

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "The Boy is Mine" by Brandy & Monica.

 

Podfic and cover art by Poetry

Length: 12 min 5 sec

**[Download as mp3](http://www.mediafire.com/download/s1irewhpu3thjhx/the_truth_you_can%27t_escape.mp3) **

**Stream**

> January 15, 1798
> 
> Dear Mrs. Reynolds,
> 
> I am sure you know who I am, so I won't waste time on introductions. My sister believes it would be good for me to contact you, as we are both dealing with the same destruction.
> 
> I want to let you know that I don't blame you alone for this affair, and I hope that you take some comfort in my forgiveness. My husband's weakness is not your fault, and I forgive you yours.
> 
> If there is anything I can do to help you, you need only write.
> 
> With great esteem,  
>  Elizabeth Hamilton

Eliza signed her name with an uncharacteristic flourish and set the quill aside. The paper was the highest quality they had in the house, and the ink shone black as night against it. She shook a small measure of fine sand onto the paper, letting it absorb the excess ink for a few moments before pouring the extra back into the ceramic pot.

Five months ago, she would never have imagined writing to her husband's mistress, let alone writing her such a mild letter. During the first few weeks, unable to sleep without Alexander's warmth beside her, Eliza had imagined what she would say if she ever saw Maria Reynolds in the street, the angry venom she would spit at the woman who had helped ruin her life. Even then, she knew she was being unreasonable, and that the real fault lay with her husband. Still, the burning fire of her anger had no other outlet than her vicious daydreams.

When Angelica had returned, she had brought with her a balm for Eliza's anger. It was no longer a raging fire spiraling out of control, but had burned down to a hard coal that sat low in her belly. Now it warmed her through without threatening to consume her.

She folded the now dry letter, sealed it with wax, and addressed it. The servants would deliver it tomorrow, and Eliza had a household to attend.

* * *

 

 

 

> March 3, 1798
> 
> Dear Madam,
> 
> I hope you forgive my rudeness in not answering your letter prompt. It's been awful hard for me and my daughter these past months as I am paying the price for my crime. We had to move twice so this letter only now reached us, living with friends under the name Clement.
> 
> I am very sorry for all the distress I caused you and your family. My husband was cruel to me and treated me poorly, but that is no excuse for what I did. I'm sure you heard he's now in jail. It's hard for us with no man to support us, but we are getting by.
> 
> Tell your sister I am grateful she told you to write me. Your forgiveness is more than I deserve.
> 
> Your humble and obedient servant,  
>  Maria Reynolds

The letter looked no different than the other pieces of personal correspondence on her desk, perhaps a bit more stained, but not unusually so. The hand was an unfamiliar one, and she skimmed down to the signature before reading the body, feeling her heart skip a beat when she read it.

Maria Reynolds had written her back.

To say she was surprised would be an understatement. Her first letter had been more an exercise in exorcism than a genuine attempt to communicate, and since she'd sealed it up and sent it off, Eliza hadn't thought about it once. She hadn't even had a solid address for Maria, only the name of a tavern near where she'd lodged last time Alexander had met with her in New York. Apparently that was enough.

Swallowing hard, Eliza folded the letter back up and slid it in the top drawer of her desk. She needed to think before she drafted a response.

* * *

 

 

> March 10, 1798
> 
> My dear madam,
> 
> I received your letter, and am saddened by the treatment you have received. If it were in my power to grant you a reprieve, I would do so.
> 
> Please do not think me forward for this suggestion, Mrs. Reynolds, but an attorney might be helpful if a reconciliation is out of the question. As a matter of course, I would never advise divorce, but your husband has shown no remorse for what he has put you through, and you must think of your daughter. With this letter I have enclosed an introduction to a lawyer in town who has recently returned to practice and can help you with her father.
> 
> E. Hamilton
> 
> * * *

> _Enclosed:_  
>  Aaron Burr, Esquire  
>  3 Wall Street  
>  New York City
> 
> March 10, 1798
> 
> Dear sir,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you well, and please accept my sympathy on the recent loss of your seat in the Senate. I pray you will not hold against me the race my father ran to win it, and that your honor will prevent you from tossing this letter before you read what is in it.
> 
> The woman carrying this letter is Maria Reynolds, whose husband James is currently charged with financial speculation. She is also the woman with whom my husband engaged in more than an innocent flirtation. As a result of these two events, she is in need of legal consultation and I believe you can provide a satisfactory adjudication.
> 
> If you are willing to represent her in court, you will have earned my considerable gratitude
> 
> With great esteem, I remain your obliged and honorable servant,  
>  E. Hamilton

The news that Maria had lost her home due to Alexander's actions had distressed Eliza, and what little residual resentment she'd held slipped away like water. Angelica, ever the cleverest Schuyler, had been the one to advised suggesting Maria get in touch with Aaron Burr. The thought of his political enemy being the one to help his discarded mistress would definitely irritate Alexander, and Eliza wasn't above such petty slights, not anymore. She couldn't openly confront her husband over his affair, not if she wanted to keep what shred of respectability her family still clung to, but maybe she'd learned something from him after all.

With a bitter smile, she sealed and addressed the letters, setting them aside for the servants to deliver, and wondered if Alexander would figure out she was behind this alliance. Unlikely. He had always underestimated her.

* * *

 

 

> August 22, 1798
> 
> Dear Madam,
> 
> Thank you for introducing me to Mr. Burr. I am now a free woman, and have decided to move to Philadelphia, where I have some friends willing to put me up. Sadly, I can't be a proper parent to my Susan with this hanging over my head, so I am leaving her here in New York. Mr. Burr said this was for the best.
> 
> I hate to inconvenience you, but I would be much obliged if you could check on her every once in awhile. She is living at the Boston Seminary for Girls, under the name Lewis.
> 
> M. ~~Reynolds~~ Clement

The syrupy heat of summer was finally starting to break when the next letter arrived from Maria. Eliza was again surprised; she'd read in the papers of Maria's divorce, and assumed that would be the end of their relationship. She'd been forgiven and was free of the situation that led to the initial affair; what more was there to discuss?

Then again, maybe she was underestimating the other woman. It took more than a pretty face to attract Alexander, as she well knew, and Eliza had begun to enjoy their correspondence as more than just a secret of her own to keep.

She pursed her lips and wondered if her Angelica would like to accompany her to Boston.

* * *

 

 

> December 18, 1799
> 
> My dear madam,
> 
> My Susan wrote to me about your Philip. I am so sorry for your loss. She has been keeping close with your daughter since you visited last year, and she says he was a good man.
> 
> I hope you can eventually find some peace. It won't be easy, but we women are built to bend, not break. You're strong, Eliza. You will survive.
> 
> M. Reynolds.

Philip's death was still a raw wound on her soul when the letter arrived. She hadn't written Maria recently, not since summer at least, though she had passed on her good wishes through Angelica's frequent correspondence with Susan. The two girls had bonded quickly after their first meeting in Boston, finally finding someone else who understood the personal consequences of Alexander's public confession.

Unlike the stack of formulaic sympathy notes from friends and acquaintances, this one didn't contain empty platitudes or say Philip was in a better place. Maria didn't talk of the "Lord's plan" or any of the hundreds of ways people had dreamed up to make themselves feel better about another person's grief.

Eliza blinked away tears and read the letter again. Maria was right. She was strong, and she could make it through this.

* * *

 

 

> July 14, 1801
> 
> My dear madam,
> 
> I write to inform you of a great personal tragedy. Two days ago, my husband died, killed in a duel. I know you also loved him, so I believe you deserved to hear this from me, rather than read it in the papers.
> 
> Although I have been remiss in our correspondence this past year, I pray you do not hold that against me. After our son's death, Alexander and I reconciled, and I felt deceitful exchanging letters with you behind his back. He certainly would not have approved.
> 
> Your faithful and esteemed servant,  
>  E. Hamilton
> 
> P.S. Perhaps this is forward of me, as it has been years and we have never met, but if you are ever in New York again, I would welcome you at ~~our~~ my home. -EH

Angelica had taken the children to her townhome for dinner, leaving Eliza home alone for the first time since Alexander's death. At first, she'd welcomed the silence, a chance to relax from the morbid minutiae that always followed a death. But now, that same silence echoed eerily around her, without even the creak of her son's cradle to distract her from her grief.

She hadn't intended to write Maria when she sat down at her desk. Maria had remarried--Susan and Angelica had kept in closer touch than their mothers--and Eliza was unsure if she'd even welcome the contact. Perhaps she had put the whole sordid story behind her, and was living the life of a respectable doctor's wife.

Eliza added the postscript after careful thought, deciding any negative consequences of meeting with Maria were far outweighed by her own, somewhat surprising, desire to see her. There was no one else in the world who so viscerally understood what it was to be loved and betrayed by Alexander as Maria Reynolds, and Eliza selfishly wanted to hold onto that connection as hard as she could.

**Author's Note:**

> This timeline is anachronistic, though not ridiculously so in the context of the show, which compresses the events of 1799-1804 into about 2 years. In reality, Maria divorced James in 1793 (finalized in 1795) and by the time the Reynolds pamphlet was published, she had married James' co-conspirator, Jacob Clingman (and changed her/their name to Clement). She did move to Philadelphia and live under an assumed name and Aaron Burr (who really was her divorce attorney) pulled some strings to get Susan into a Boston seminary under her mother's maiden name of Lewis. 
> 
> Maria went on to marry at least one more time, to a Dr. Mathews, though she had no other children that I can find. Susan apparently shared her mother's poor taste in men--after having a daughter with her first husband, a Mr. Wright, they divorced. Her second marriage to a Mr. Phillips produced another daughter, Josepha, and lasted until his death. She married again, but was separated after less than a year, and went on to become an alcoholic and "unfit for decent society," dying poor and miserable soon after. (See: Memoirs of Peter A. Grotjan)
> 
> If you haven't heard the Musicality ensemble's cover of "Burn" and you liked the snippets from the song in the podfic, listen to the whole performance [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsMhM_3fKOY),


End file.
